


To Woo an Angel

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [85]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chocolate, Domesticity, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Wing Grooming, sfw seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 08:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: 5 times Crowley tried to "seduce" Aziraphale, and 1 time he realized there was no need.





	To Woo an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt about Crowley teasing Aziraphale about seducing him, and Aziraphale living for it.

1)

It started with flowers. Well, it really started with Crowley sulking, because Aziraphale had made an offhand comment about how Crowley wasn’t one of _those sort_ of demons, the lewd sort obsessed with seduction and sex. Crowley had pouted and told him that there was more to seduction than just sex, and that Crowley was perfectly capable of seduction if he wanted to be, thank you very much. He’d stalked off before Aziraphale could reply. And then the flowers had turned up.

Not cut flowers, though. These were potted, with a note attached to them in Crowley’s handwriting to say that this way, the flowers would not die, just like his love for Aziraphale. The sappiness made the angel smile, and he arranged the flower pots around his bookshop, tending to them dutifully and whispering words of encouragement to them. The flowers bloomed brighter than any in London, although whether this was due to Crowley’s sharp words before delivery or Aziraphale’s kind ones after would remain uncertain. Either way, every time Aziraphale looked at them, a warm glow ignited in his chest.

2)

The tickets appeared next. Two of them, with a neat little bow tacking them to his front desk, to an opera Aziraphale had mentioned wanting to see a few months ago. He’d never had the opportunity to go, but the note affixed to them, a simple _pick you up at eight_, made his heart flutter.

Crowley was out of the leather and skinny jeans and in actual tails when he arrived at eight o’clock. Aziraphale blushed when Crowley opened the Bentley door for him, and blushed again when Crowley offered him his elbow to walk him into the opera house. The demon had even procured him a pair of antique opera glasses, almost exactly like a pair Aziraphale had lost in the eighteen-hundreds, and the sentiment of the gift nearly had Aziraphale crying before the show even began.

Afterwards, Crowley walked him home, kissing the back of his hand when he left Aziraphale at the bookshop door, leaving the angel to stare after him in amazement, skin still tingling where the demon’s lips had touched.

3)

By the time they reached chocolate, Aziraphale was ready to say something. They were in the back of the bookshop, sitting on the sofa together, and Crowley had brought over a box of very expensive chocolates, imported from Belgium (or, more likely, miracled from a now slightly understocked chocolate shop in Belgium, but Aziraphale would forgive that just this once). Crowley flipped open the lid and scooted closer to Aziraphale, pressing up against the angel’s side. “Want to try a piece?” he asked in a low voice. “It’s Heavenly, I promise you.”

Aziraphale gave him a fond smile. He opened his mouth to say something, to tell Crowley that there really was no need for the trouble he was going to, but before he could speak there was something sweet and rich being pressed lightly to his tongue. Aziraphale moaned, quite unintentionally, and obediently sucked the rest of the chocolate from Crowley’s fingers. The demon lifted a second piece from the box, offering it out, and Aziraphale decided that words could wait for another day.

4)

A few days later, the smell of roasting vegetables drew Aziraphale into his kitchen. Crowley, apron clad and humming strains of Queen under his breath, stood in the centre of the room, chopping onions for what looked like a pot roast ready to go into the oven. He smiled at Aziraphale when the angel entered. “Hey. Didn’t think you’d be moving for another couple of hours. Thought I’d make us some dinner.”

Aziraphale stared. “You never cook. We always go out.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d try my hand at it.” Crowley finished with the onions and slid them into the pan. He set down the cutting board and the knife, a frown briefly creasing his forehead. “Is that alright? I mean, if you’d rather go out-“

“No!” Aziraphale said quickly. If he hadn’t been an angel, his mouth might have watered. It did anyway. Crowley might not have cooked before, but he seemed to have an aptitude for it already. “It smells positively scrumptious. I can’t wait to try it.”

Crowley beamed, and went back to work.

5)

The most significant bit happened less than a week later. Aziraphale didn’t dislike having Crowley’s hands on him; far from it, he was an angel, a being of love, and as a being of love squashed into an, admittedly very comfortable, Earthly vessel, that tended to manifest in a strong desire for physical contact. Crowley seemed to feel the same, which made for a great deal of cuddling. But this was different.

“It’s alright,” Crowley murmured to him, pressing Aziraphale face-down against the mattress. His hands kneaded gently at Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, pressing down towards the base of them. “Can you pop your wings out for me, angel?”

“My wings?”

Crowley dug his fingers in a little harder as he massaged at the skin, and Aziraphale bit back a surprised but pleased sound as some of the pressure in his back melted away. “I know how much it hurts, keeping them in all the time,” Crowley soothed. “Let them out for a bit. I’ll groom them for you.”

He didn’t need to ask again. Aziraphale allowed his wings to rise from his back, and then snuggled into the pillows. He sighed happily as Crowley’s fingers began to pull through his wings, straightening the feathers and massaging sensually at the aching joints. “Does that feel good?” Crowley purred.

“Mmm, very good, my dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice muffled slightly by the pillows. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

+1

“Alright, angel, you win.” Crowley flopped down onto the sofa, expression caught halfway between irritated and miserable.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up from his book and tilted his head. “I wasn’t aware we were playing a game.” It had been almost a month since Crowley’s efforts had started, and Aziraphale was still quite enjoying the results. The potted plants made a lovely, lively accent to the bookshop, and Crowley had made him dinner several times now. The demon was an excellent cook. The sudden, stormy change to Crowley’s attitude was cause for concern.

“We weren’t,” Crowley muttered. He huffed. “You’ve made your point. I’m not good at seduction. I’m not that sort of demon.”

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale said warmly. He set his book aside and knelt beside the sofa, chin resting on his folded arms so he could look Crowley in the eye. He smiled. “You really think I didn’t notice?”

“Maybe,” Crowley admitted, turning his head to look at Aziraphale. There was the faintest quiver to his lip, worry in his eyes. “But nothing changed. Not with the flowers or the chocolate…not after the opera or dinner…even when I groomed you…We’re still just the same.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, in a voice that managed to sound like the words ‘dearheart’ and ‘you idiot’ at the same time. “Why did you expect anything to change?”

“Well…”

“I’m already yours, darling. I have been for quite awhile now. I do appreciate the seduction efforts, of course. It’s nice to feel loved, to feel appreciated. But they aren’t necessary. You captured my heart long ago, and it will always be yours.”

Crowley stared at him, eyes wide. “_Oh_,” he said. “You mean it didn’t work because I’d already seduced you?”

“If you’d like to put it that way. Of course, seduction sounds simplistic. My love for you is anything but. It is boundless.”

Crowley blushed and squirmed. “Stop it, angel,” he mumbled roughly, trying to sound tough and failing utterly. “You’re being sappy.”

“You like it when I’m sappy,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed. He reached up, wrapping his fingers around Aziraphale’s collar and tugging the angel down into a long kiss. “I really do.”


End file.
